Grotesque
Sick
How do you bare to look at me
I stand in front of my mirror
Grotesque
Sick
How do you bare to look at me
I stand in front of my mirror
Tears steaming down my face
I see you there behind me
You only turn away
I raised the blade to my wrist
You don’t turn back
I press down
The liquid rushes from my veins
My last words are only
I’m sorry
For the blood I spilt on you